Red
by RoseblossomWarrior
Summary: Edward Elric didn't expect to train another apprentice. He had sworn that he wouldn't. When a young woman comes to his doorstep asking to be his pupil, he flat out refuses her, but there's something unusual about her: Zephrya Baum is an Ishvalan. [Post Promised Day. OCxEd's son. Most other canon pairings.]


_DISCLAIMER: I'll say this for the whole story: I do not own FMA. I do not gain profit from this fic. I only own my own original characters._

* * *

"_All Things come from One, and One loves All Things."_

—_The Book of Ishvala_

One

June 14, 1936

Zephyra Baum

The young woman had been on the train for several hours, but she still gawked at anything and everything. The seats weren't comfortable even with the cushions placed upon them, but she marveled at how uniform they were. She kept peeking toward the back of the car at the handful of off-duty soldiers she recognized from back home. The pungent odor of cigarette smoke and loud peals of laughter wafted over her, and she heard talk of seeing children and girlfriends again after so long. Some of the men sounded nostalgic, while others shouted their relief about finally being free of Colonel Havoc and his band of do-gooders.

The young woman smiled and looked out the window. An outcropping of small buildings rose up in the distance. They almost looked out of place among the miles and miles of rolling green hills and plains. She pressed her face against the window, unable to get enough of the rich, verdant color. She wiggled her toes, wondering how it felt to walk barefoot among so much grass.

The train continued on toward the town, and soon it pulled into the station. A voice over the loudspeakers announced that they'd arrived in Resembool, and the young woman stood, slipped her backpack on, and departed from the train.

The station was small and open to the air. A strong breeze buffeted the girl's body as she stepped onto the pavement. She looked around, stretching the lean muscles of her brown arms, and walked over to the ticket booth to ask for directions. The man stiffened upon noticing her appearance, but she politely thanked him when he told her where to go and left.

The town was tiny, but it was noon and the main streets were crowded with people. Most watched the young woman as she passed. Some of the stares were curious, others hostile, and she fidgeted a little but tried not to let it show. Most of the Amestrians she'd met had been military men and women who were accustomed to the sight of red eyes, white hair, and brown skin, but these people weren't. The stares made her uncomfortable, but she didn't blame the Amestrians or anything. She had once tended to stare at the white skin of the soldiers back home, too.

It didn't take too long to walk out of the main part of town and into the hills. A few paths branched out, but she took the middle road. The dirt was bordered on both sides by low rock walls, beyond which lay the endless Resembool plains. The young woman stopped for a moment to kick off and pick up her sandals before stepping over one of the walls. The grass pleasantly tickled her feet, and she smiled as she went on. She passed a fenced-in field dotted with sheep that had been shorn for the summer. One bleated at the sight of her.

Finally, a yellow house came into her view. It sat on the top of a long hill. A wide porch was at the front, and next to the stairs stood a wooden sign reading _ROCKBELL AUTOMAIL. _The young woman took a breath and untied her ponytail only to put her hair back in the same style. She put her sandals back on before returning to the path. Her heartbeat quickened, and she wiped her sweaty palms against her pants. She didn't stop walking until she reached the front door and knocked.

A muffled yell came from inside, and a few moments later, the door opened. At the threshold stood a boy about the girl's age—seventeen or so. He stood a bit taller than she did, and his short golden hair hung in strands around his head, like he hadn't bothered to brush it; one studded ear poked out of the mess. His equally golden eyes widened at the appearance of the Ishvalan at his doorstep.

"Are you here for automail…?" he asked after a moment. He looked her up and down, then embarrassedly glanced away, like he felt stupid for rudely staring.

She laughed a little out of both slight amusement and immense nervousness. "Um…do I look like I have automail to you?" she said, stretching her arms and one leg a bit. She'd never seen actual automail before in her life, much less needed it.

"Ah, sorry." He seemed kind of amused now too, if still mostly wary. His eyebrows had furrowed slightly when he'd heard her accent. "Can I help you?"

Her nerves hit her full-force. "Well, um," she said, mentally berating herself for her awkwardness, "I'm looking for the Fullmetal Alchemist."

The boy snorted. "Ah, Dad doesn't go by that anymore. It's just Mr. Edward Elric now." He smiled, and the genuine emotion made her stomach twist. "I'll go get him for you."

The girl was more than happy to wait at the door while the boy disappeared inside the house. She bounced on the balls of her feet, then caught herself and stopped. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and for a moment she thought the boy had come back.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. He looked almost exactly like his son, only taller and more broad-shouldered. His long hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and some stubble lined his strong jaw, suggesting he'd been too lazy to shave that morning. He looked roughly thirty-five or so. He looked her up and down, but unlike his son, he wasn't wary of her at all.

She dry-swallowed. "Are you Mr. Elric?"

He shrugged, but it somehow seemed to confirm his title. "Who wants to know?"

She put a hand to her chest, near her heart. "My name is Zephrya Baum. I wish to become your apprentice in alchemy."

Edward Elric's eyes widened with genuine surprise before he frowned and shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't take on apprentices anymore."

Zephrya's heart plummeted into her stomach. "I was told you would accept me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Who told you that?"

"High Priest Altan," Zephrya answered. "I sought council with him because he's the only one of our people that knows alchemy, even though he doesn't use it."

Edward stared at her for a moment before looking away and muttering under his breath. He passed a hand over his face as if trying to get rid of an annoying or unsettling thought. "Sorry—uh, Zephyra, you said? I don't take on apprentices." He suddenly frowned. "Aren't you Ishvalan?"

A troubled look overcame Zephrya's features. She knew what he meant. "It _is _against our religion…" She took a breath and stiffened her body, a look of determination entering her eyes. "But I don't think Ishvala would have given alchemy to the world if it couldn't help us. I want to help my people. I know you Amestrians help us, but I want us to be better able to help ourselves."

He'd made a slight face when she'd mentioned the name of God, but otherwise listened patiently. He sighed and scratched his chin, thinking. "Well," he said with a loud sigh, putting a hand to his temple, "if you're serious about it, my brother might—"

"I want my teacher to be you, Mr. Elric!" she insisted, her red eyes bright and determined. "I've heard stories about you. About how you were the hero of the people." She dropped to the floor of the porch, bowing deeply on all fours. "I want you to teach me. I won't leave until you agree."

Edward studied her for a moment before snorting. "You're gonna sit there forever, kid."

She kept silent for a few seconds. "I'm patient, Mr. Elric. I can wait."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Well then, don't get in the way if any of Winry's customers come."

With that, he closed the door.

* * *

December 31, 1917

Edward Elric

His eyelids drooped heavily as he leaned his forehead against the frigid window. Occasionally he would pinch his arm, but even that action couldn't ward off his yawns. He imagined what his brother would say about this "unusual" travel habit, and though he chuckled quietly to himself, he missed Alphonse quite terribly. Correspondence between Creta and Xing, not to mention the lands beyond, was slow at best, and they hadn't seen each other in almost a year.

Edward pulled out several papers from the pocket of his coat. He smiled fondly at the worn, crinkled paper. By the soft light in the train compartment, he began to read.

_October 20, 1917_

_ Brother, your travels sound amazing so far! I wish we had the opportunity to explore the West Area while we were traveling around Amestris. I hope you aren't getting yourself into trouble? I'm not there to stop you from making a fool of yourself, so I worry about you! You wrote about going out onto the ocean on a boat—I'm surprised you didn't drown or get salt embedded in your automail, unless you neglected to mention that._

Edward had to stop reading for a moment. He grinned with amusement and guilt as he flexed his metal ankle, hearing the slight grating noise of the grains stuck in the gears.

_Xing has land connected to the ocean, but May and Ling have told me that there are only steep cliffs, no beaches of any kind. Mr. Jerso and Mr. Zampano were rather disappointed, as am I. But one of the bordering countries, Legas, is friendly with Xing and has many ports, so I've been planning to travel in their southern lands. Ling says that only rich scientists know alchemy there, but I hope one of them can help Mr. Jerso and Mr. Zampano. They've admitted to me that they miss their families, but don't tell them I told you._

_ May has continued to teach me alkahestry. I've compiled copies of my notes to share with you. I hope you can understand them—they're all rather difficult without a teacher. It took me awhile to understand the Dragon's Pulse, or chi, but May has been very patient with me, and it helps that I have a body now. I think that's why I couldn't feel it when I was first learning. May, Ling, and Lan Fan have also been teaching me Xingese. It's easy enough to speak—actually, it's hardly easy—but the writing is so complicated. If I didn't have someone to translate for me, I'd get lost every day._

_ I doubt that I'll be able to return for New Year's. Actually, unless some huge event happens back home, I'd like to remain in the East for as long as I can. On the way back, though, I want to stop in Xerxes. Would you like to come too? I'll mail you before I leave. _

_ I'm sure you understand the feeling of wanting to keep traveling, but at least __I __don't have feelings for a certain someone pulling me back to Resembool. Speaking of which, I get a lot of letters from Winry. I'm sure she misses you. Head home for the holiday! I'm sure she and Granny would appreciate it. And for Winry's sake, stay a while._

_ Love and Regards,_

_ Alphonse Elric_

The rest of Alphonse's letter consisted of notes on alkahestry and a few lines and translations of Xingese. Ed wasn't one for languages—he'd been more than glad that Cretans spoke mostly the same way as Amestrians did—so he didn't really pay attention. In fact, Al's familiar teasing had brought his mind back to Winry.

He looked back out the window, but the nighttime snow and thick clouds made it impossible to see. He pulled out another letter, which was paper-clipped to a picture of his fiancée that was worn at the edges but significantly less crinkled.

_November 2, 1917_

_ First of all, Ed, have you been keeping up with your maintenance? I doubt the engineers in Creta can even match Amestrian skill, and I don't want you to end up without a leg. I can just see you hobbling up to the house and begging for another rush-order, and maybe I agreed that you shouldn't have to make appointments, __but I'm not going to be happy if you ruin my automail again. __So don't._

Edward smiled and rubbed his thumb across the paper as he continued to read. Most was either a reaction to his last letter or just an account of the recent happenings at the house. In passing, Winry mentioned her "mom's old dress" and how it fit her well, and every time he read that line, he shivered.

He loved her. He was going to marry her.

No longer sleepy, Ed stared at Winry's picture for a moment longer, and the conductor announced that they'd arrived in Resembool. He grabbed his suitcase and shot to his feet, barely remembering to wish the conductor a happy new year before he stepped out onto the platform. He slipped and nearly fell, but regained his balance and hurried out of the station.

On any other night, Resembool would have been asleep. As it was, the crowd waiting for the New Year was not nearly as large as it would have been in East City or any other town. Men, women, and children laughed and shouted to each other as they traveled among the holiday stalls, and some stopped to eat while others stopped to play games. Strings of lights, mostly white ones, lined the main street and several of the side paths. The snow, rare as it was this far south, glowed as it drifted past the lights.

Edward watched the whole scene for a moment before grinning and walking through. A few people recognized him and wholeheartedly welcomed him back, and more than one teasing comment about his newfound height came his way. He passed by several children yelling about how one of them was so lucky to have won one of the games, and he remembered being that age, remembered being that lucky and prideful, and he smiled softly.

It hardly took him long to reach the town's end. The stalls ended abruptly as he approached the paths leading toward the outer fields. He chose the middle path and, nearly slipping on the icy snow, headed up the familiar road.

"I can't believe it's snowing in Resembool," he muttered, holding out his hand and feeling the tiny ice crystals melt in his palm. He could barely see anymore, now that he was pulling out of range of town. He kept his palm facing upward.

A single light illuminated the Rockbell porch. There were no other lights on, at least not any Ed could see through the windows. After a few more minutes, he finally ascended the slippery stairs and came to the door. Though a smile stretched across his face, he hesitated before knocking. Den barked from inside, but he heard nothing else.

Ed took a step back and frowned up toward Winry's window. He tried the door and found it unlocked, and he shook his head, mentally telling off Pinako. Den greeted him warmly as he entered the dark kitchen, and he rubbed her ears as he looked around.

"Hello?" he called. It was New Year's Eve, shouldn't they be awake? He ventured into the house, turning on lights here and there to help him on his way. He went up to the second floor, Den following him, and he knocked on and opened the door to Winry's room.

It was empty.

He stared.

"They went to the festival!" he realized.

Den snorted.

Ed, feeling like a huge idiot (a common occurrence, not that he would admit it), went back downstairs and considered walking back into town, but then he shook his head and grinned to himself. He took one of the kitchen chairs and put it next to the window beside the front door, then turned off all the lights before taking a seat and watching for Pinako and Winry.

By the time his fiancée and future grandmother-in-law returned, he was snoring against the window.

Winry woke him up, long past midnight, with their first kiss.

* * *

June 15, 1915

Roy Mustang

"Sir."

Brigadier General Mustang opened his eyes. "Are we almost there, Major Hawkeye?"

"No, sir." The uniformed blonde who sat across from him was looking out the window of their private compartment. "It's just we're about…" Her brown eyes, usually so focused while she was on duty, softened. "…to pass Resembool."

Mustang adjusted his posture a little and looked out to see the rolling pastures that were so typical in the East. He kept his arms crossed. "You don't want to stop, do you, Major?" he asked with a slight smirk.

Hawkeye smiled softly and shook her head. "No, sir. They don't need us anymore. Besides, we shouldn't be late."

The Brigadier General chuckled. "Late? For what? The press conference for this whole thing was in Central." Despite the topic change, his mind drifted to the brothers in Resembool, and he smiled inwardly.

"You know what I mean," Hawkeye replied. She looked at her hands, which she had folded in her lap. "I want to start fixing things."

"I do, too," he agreed. His fingers tensed against his arm. "It won't be easy. There's animosity everywhere."

"Isn't there always?"

He smirked with morbid amusement. He looked back outside the window, and his mind flashed with screams, gunshots, and blood. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

Fuhrer Grumman's press release had proclaimed his new plan to help restore Ishval back to its former state before Fuhrer Bradley had signed the Ishvalan Genocide—which Grumman had already nullified—into action. Needless to say, the very idea had brought out many differing viewpoints on the matter. Amestris may not have had a democracy, but the people had essentially divided into three factions on the issue.

The first was labeled the Pro-Restoration Movement, or the "Pros." The members varied from where they came from in Amestris, but were generally from larger, more socially-liberal cities as opposed to outlying towns. They agreed wholeheartedly with the cause and even sent money or volunteers.

The second was the moderates. They typically consisted of Northern or Western Amestrians who had had little to do with the Ishvalan campaign roughly fourteen years prior. The media, under the hand of Fuhrer Bradley and the homunculi, had fed the people countless anti-Cretan or anti-Drachman "information," and they typically had little interest in Ishval, since it had already been annexed into the country.

The third and most noticeable was the Anti-Restoration Movement. They mostly belonged to Central, the South, or the East, the last of which had been affected the most by the Ishvalan War. The majority of the "Antis" were bigoted racists who had, once again, been fed false information about the foreign culture even before the annexation of Ishval. Fuhrer Grumman had received hundreds of death-threats via mail already, but he laughed them off and only said it was a good thing that none of "those bigots" were among the soldiers and volunteers he was sending to Ishval.

Of those, Grumman had assigned the newly-promoted Brigadier General Roy Mustang to oversee the restoration. Mustang—with the permission of the Fuhrer—had chosen his officers for the mission: Major Riza Hawkeye, Warrant Officer Kain Fuery, First Lieutenants Jean Havoc and Heymans Breda, and, by request, Major Miles, who brought along an "Ishvalan volunteer" by the name of Altan. Mustang would have liked to take Vato Falman, now a Second Lieutenant, along, but the man had recently become a family guy up in the North.

Mustang suddenly blinked and glanced to Hawkeye. "Did you say something?"

"No, sir."

"I could have sworn you just called me 'Roy.'" He leaned back in his seat. "Must've been my mind playing tricks on me."

"It does tend to do that, sir."

He gave her the stink eye.

Hawkeye simply began to leaf through the informational files once more. "You'd best be prepared, Brigadier General. We'll be arriving at the Ishval station soon."

The Ishval station was just barely inside Ishvalan territory. The capital city was still miles and miles away and would require vehicle transportation to reach. Mustang wished he could just step off the train and onto the soil of Ishval already.

It was time for things to change.

* * *

_9/21/13:_

_Hey, everyone! Rose here. I'm busy enough with school and Insomniacs as it is, and yet here I am with another fic. Updates will be sporadic, don't rely on me to keep them regular. School is hard enough to keep up with as it is, and I'm a senior and I have to do all this college-planning stuff this year. I also want to have chapters be really long for this fic (a lot longer than this first introductory chapter), if I can do it._

_Let's talk about this fic. It'll have the present timeline (1936 and onwards) featuring the OC, Zephyra Baum. I had the idea to have an Ishvalan OC and I just went with it. Primarily, the story is about her, and also, the story's main pairing is her/Ed's son if you didn't catch that. If I plan it right (I haven't written any chapters other than this, I'm an impatient person, okay?), then I'll be able to have the flashback scenes further enhance the main story...hopefully. Don't count on it. Anyway, I know we didn't get to see much of Zephyra, but we'll learn more._

_Some things about the story: Alphonse and May are not romantically involved. Scar's new name is Altan (it was almost "Micahel." Sorry, Mel, I failed you). Hawkeye and Mustang were both promoted two ranks after the Promised Day. Ed and Winry have two kids. Blah blah blah._

_Welcome to Red, and I hope you enjoy the fic._

_EDIT: I messed up big time on my math and realized I didn't want the story to take place in '47, so I went back in and fixed the time to '37. Ed and Win are in their 30s instead of their 40s, etc. Sorry!_


End file.
